Inspired by Carmilla
by Hyperon
Summary: Just an exercise in writing, conceptually a modern re-imagining of Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla. Contains sapphic themes.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was early into the first month of the new year and I was returning to University, after a Christmas break spent at home with my father and the friends of my youth. My father had offered to drive me back but I'd declined, opting to take the train instead; we'd already moved my belongings into my new home during the late September of the previous year.

Christmas was always a relaxed time in our home and I quite preferred it that way, it was a welcome come down from the stresses of coursework deadlines and exams. I enjoyed spending time with my old friends, but it was nice to be able to step back without having to worry about obtrusive family gatherings or awkward celebrations and just rest.

I might not sound like the most normal of girls in their late teens and in truth I probably wasn't, nor am I still. Normal was a concept I'd always had a little difficulty with, for as far as I was concerned everyone was their own self and that was the most normal thing they could be. It took me a long time to understand that my social difficulties and reclusive tendencies were not what was usually considered 'normal'.

I'd spent the first year of my student life living in the halls of residence of the University of Leicester, but I hadn't much enjoyed the cramped and crowded atmosphere - I was raised as the only child of a single parent family and was used to a degree of solitude. My original plans for this year had been to move into a small house with a friend from my course, but things had unfortunately taken an awkward turn and my friend had failed the exams and dropped out. I was left paying the entire rent for the property myself, stuck with the prospect of straining my limited finances further or finding a replacement room mate at an extremely odd time of year.

In truth, I hadn't much liked the idea of sharing with a stranger, but circumstances had left me with little choice and I'd posted an advertisement on the University noticeboard as one of my last actions before going home for the holiday. However, all students had long since secured their accommodation arrangements for the year and I'd received no replies by either mail or e-mail. I almost gave up, and perhaps I should have done.

My train had pulled into Leicester in the late afternoon and despite my careful planning, the light had already begun to rapidly slip away. My house was a good thirty minute walk away from the train station, on the opposite side of Victoria Park too. In fact, the prime reason I had chosen to arrive early in the day was so that I could avoid crossing that park in the darkness.

Back when I first joined the University we were warned by our sub-wardens to avoid crossing the park at night. A number of attacks on young women had taken place there in recent history. We'd all laughed it off at the time, but sure enough a young girl from the block opposite mine was attacked that very year and had later died of blood loss in hospital. We'd heard she'd been involved with some unpleasant characters and had probably been drunk at the time, but I still had to feel sorry for the poor girl. I took the warning more seriously after that.

Fortunately my trip home that day was uneventful, if a bit mind racking. I arrived back safely as the short winter day began to reach its end and relaxed by myself on the sofa watching evening television. It was during this period of calm and apparent safety that the first terrible event of several would occur.

My house was a small terrace, one of dozens built amongst a small network of intersecting streets. The whole local area was usually very quiet at this time of the day, owing largely to a high number of dead-end roads and lack of points of interest. Strange exceptions aside, the only people around were usually those who lived there. That day was one such exception.

I was shaken from my reverie by an extremely loud crash from the street outside my house. I sprang to my feet and dashed to the window, but by then it had become far too dark to see anything of interest. Against my better judgement I took the torch from the shelf above my shoes and went to the front door. On opening the door I was granted with the sight of scattered bins and debris, some propelled a great distance from where they had originally stood.

Amongst the wreckage of the strewn bins, the beam of my torch fell across the body of a young lady. I shrieked in shock and dropped the torch to the concrete, the impact instantly returning me to darkness. Composing myself, I ventured forwards, gaining confidence with every step, finally stopping over her limp body. At first I thought her surely dead, but a tiny movement of her head made me realise she was still very much alive. Without thinking I scooped her into my arms and carried her into my home.

I don't really know what was going through my mind that made me do it, I should have known better than to have moved an injured person. Had events unfolded otherwise, I could have very easily been responsible for the worsening, or even death, of some poor victim. It boggles the mind how one can so easily act so horrendously when confronted with disaster. A hero I am surely not.

Under the dim artificial lighting of my living room, I was so taken aback by her apparent beauty that I almost failed to register the blood running down her pretty face. In retrospect I should have called for an ambulance or the police immediately and perhaps if I had then things would have developed differently, but I found my gaze locked onto her and my body immobile. I think I might have stood there watching her all night, had she not chosen that very moment to return to conciousness.

"How wonderful," she spoke languidly, as if in daze, "to find such a kind person in this modern age of fears."

Even marred by blood and a thin sheen of sweat, her fine features and large, dark eyes were exquisitely beautiful. Her eyes especially glimmered with a keen intelligence that was only embellished by the subtle dimples of her amused smile.

"What happened to you?" I asked, ignoring her strange exclamation and attributing it to her unfortunate condition.

"I was struck down by a car, but really I'm quite fine." She paused. "Could you tell me if a Laura lives around these parts? I was looking for her before the accident."

I was shocked at this, unsure of what to say or do next. She seemed well enough, but for someone who had only been in an accident moments earlier to ask something so reckless struck me as utterly bizarre. If this Laura had been a good friend or family member then I could understand her wanting to contact them first, but this couldn't have been the case because I was Laura!

"I'm Laura," I finally answered her, "what did you want to speak to me about?"

"What a wonderful coincidence indeed," she replied with a stunning smile that brought colour to my cheeks, "I was hoping to talk to you about the advertisement you placed."

"Advertisement," I repeated dumbly. "Oh, you mean to live here?"

"That's correct."

"We can talk about that later! Shouldn't I call you an ambulance? Do you want to contact the police at all?" I asked her as my sensibilities returned and I broke free from surreal feeling of comfortability that had overtaken me.

"A wash and a good rest is all I need, but thank you for worrying about me. I shouldn't like to waste the time of such important public services over something as trivial as this."

"I hardly think this is trivial..."

In fairness I had never experienced what it was like to be knocked down by a car, but I didn't tend to think of such an event as 'trivial'. Being bitten by a cat was trivial, or tripping on the path and scraping a knee. Didn't people die from being hit by cars?

"I feel fine now, honestly."

She was polite and sincere, but her voice held little room for negotiation and I felt compelled to allow her to have her way. This was a feeling I would find increasingly common in future, as there was an ethereal weight behind the elegance of her speech and actions. I would liken it to a stream, flowing smoothly and calmly, but effortlessly resisting opposed motion.

I showed her to my shower and explained that she could use my bed for the night, while I would use the sleeping bag on the spare bed. It was ridiculous what I did; inviting an injured stranger off of the street into my house and letting them spend the night in my own bed, but there was something about her that escapes explanation. An aura of familiarity. I felt as safe and comfortable with her around as I did when I was alone. Even now I struggle to understand it.

I was up early the next morning, having slept poorly in the itchy old sleeping bag. However, I was surprised to find my guest up even earlier and in the kitchen making breakfast.

"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I just used what was there," she said with a warm smile.

I hadn't had time to restock my fridge and cupboards yet, what they held were only the temporary provisions I had brought back with me or bought from the station.

"Oh, it's fine... wait, this is for me?" I was surprised, a little shocked even.

"It's the least I can do. I don't think it even begins to show my thanks for last night."

"What about you?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't notice my blush.

"I've already eaten," she said with a memorable smile.

She briefly placed her delicate hand over mine and nudged the simple breakfast plate under my nose. I was hungrier than I had thought I was and the warm buttered toast and peeled, sliced apple went a long way to making up for the uncomfortable night of sleep I'd had.

"Do you have time to talk about the contract this morning, or does your course start early?" she asked me.

"I'm afraid I need to be in early, so we'll need to sort it out later today."

She looked disappointed and ran one of her slim porcelain hands through her long, rich, dark brown hair. I'd never met anyone before who could look so effortlessly stunning at such an early time in the morning.

"I see. Do you want me to leave and return in the afternoon?"

"No, you can stay here if you want to. I've already decided to let you move in."

"I'm glad," she said, creating a disturbingly comfortable silence between us.

"What course are you on?" I asked her out of a necessity to change the atmosphere.

"The History of Art. You could say I have a bit of a natural affinity for it," she replied with a sly smile.

"Sounds very interesting. I dabble in a bit of art myself, but I was never very good at the theory side of things, kind of ironic really," I chuckled.

I sometimes regretted not taking my love of art any further, but it was a talent I held onto and still practised often and one which I hoped to retain because of that. I had always had an awkward time making choices about my education, as I had always found myself to have a appreciable skill, luck or talent in everything I had ever tried and yet I could never claim to be a master of any one subject, sport or field. My interests were narrow but my skills were abundant and thinly spread. It made me feel guilty as it wasn't something one should ever really complain about.

"Oh, why the irony?" she sounded confused.

"Ah, sorry, I should have explained. I'm studying physics, which is quite solid in regards to the theoretical."

I'd had a love and hate relationship with mathematics and science as a child, always lured in by the cosmic elegance and beauty of physics and the whispering promises of fundamental secrets only to be put off by the inane and seemingly pointless operations and complications of mathematics. It wasn't until I begrudgingly took Mathematics A-level to accompany my physics and we began to study calculus that it truly dawned on me how profound and important it was.

"How amazing, I didn't imagine many women would choose to study such a pure science."

She seemed genuinely amazed and somehow pleased at this, not at all the reaction I had been expecting from her.

"Most people just gasp or tell me I'm mad, I think I'm looked on as being a bit strange because of it."

"Nonsense," she demanded kindly, "I think it's brilliant that you can do it. If there's one thing that my life has shown me, it's that nothing advances, changes and defines mankind more than the constant progression of science in the wake of curiosity."

"Ah, thank you. You make me sound so much more focused than I really am though, I could have just as easily studied English Literature or History."

This was also very true, History had originally been my fourth choice A-level subject until I had finally made my decision to replace it with Mathematics. History had never really been a subject I had greatly enjoyed, always being more interested in the future than the past, but had nevertheless been one I had excelled at in my early school life. Sometimes even now I still look back at the choices that defined my early life and laugh at how little thought I really gave them. However, to ponder on what could have been is a useless hobby we are all quite guilty of.

"But you didn't study those things and because of that you're here now in this city of Leicester and I was able to meet you."

Again her soft hand feathered over my own and I felt my breath catch in my throat as her thumb lightly stroked once against my down-turned palm. The feeling of her cool, smooth skin against mine felt so inappropriately wonderful that a sigh of discontent escaped my lips when she slowly pulled her hand away. I was at a loss to understand the effect she had over me and the confused thoughts that danced through my mind.

"I... I should really be leaving now," I managed to stutter out.

"A shame, but you must not be late. Do you have a spare key?"

"I do, but you won't be here when I get back?" I asked, my disappointment more apparent than I had intended.

"I have to return to fetch my belongings sometime, if I am to live here," she responded politely. "I wouldn't like for you to be locked out of your own home."

"Ah, of course. I'll take my spare key then."

Upon leaving my home the reality of my unexpected situation seemed to rush upon me as the icy cold air. I still didn't even know the name of the person who, at the time, I had only met the night before and was that moment sitting alone in my house with my keys and most of my worldly possessions. I very nearly turned on my heels there and then with a mind to sprint home and throw her onto the street. It was only the fresh image of her bright face and large dark eyes in my mind, along with memories of this morning's conversation that stopped me.

I had trouble concentrating for the rest of the day, my mind a confused mess of thoughts and rationalisations. Exaggerated simulations of terrible possibilities flickered through my imagination constantly, punctuated only occasionally by significantly more pleasant but equally disturbing ones that I dare not mention more of.

Eventually my troubled day of work and lectures came to an end and I was due to return home. I have to admit that at the time I had felt a slightly guilty eagerness and the length of my trip was marginally shorter than even with my usual brisk pace. Unfortunately the locked door indicated that my new friend was not waiting for me with a pretty smile and a hot, cooked meal.

I noticed some new items had been moved into the house and the spare bed had been made up with clean sheets and a fresh mattress. Evidently the moving in had required several trips and was still under way. I removed my shoes and placed them in the hall alongside a couple of unfamiliar pairs before putting on a DVD and collapsing onto the sofa.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I must have been tired from my lack of a good nights rest because I fell asleep on the sofa shortly after eating the kind of cheap student's meal that I had become accustom to on the increasingly common days when I couldn't muster the effort to make something proper.

The noise of a door opening woke me from my peaceful slumber but not sufficiently to return my wits to me in any appreciable volume, nor did the quiet footsteps across the carpet from me, or the tickle of breath against my cheek. It wasn't until her warm body carefully pressed up against mine and her hand lazily encircled my neck, her face so close to mine that I breathed more perfume than air, that I was suddenly jarred to what I thought was my full awareness.

"W-what are you doing, are you drunk?" I demanded in the sternest voice I could muster, which I fancy sounded more like that of a startled mouse – for in many ways I was the sleeping mouse that the cat had lazily curled up beside in tired confusion.

"Drunk in a sense, perhaps."

Her gaze met mine at the closest of proximity and her beautiful, round, dark eyes glittered with such magnificent Machiavellian intelligence that I thought she must have just made the most brilliant of wicked jokes. Under her eyes I was powerless to act or respond in the way that I knew I should, whether it be some emotionally conflicting side of my personality or something more sinister. Self-analysis would need to wait.

My pulse raced with a guilty excitement as her body pressed down harder on top of me and her hands desperately explored the naked skin of my waist and neck. I squirmed and whimpered as her lips sucked tenderly on my collarbone, before breaking off to trail a path of light kisses from my neck down to the line of my breasts.

After a few moments of lavishing her unexpected affections on me, she shifted and snaked up my body once more, so that she could look me in the eyes and cup my face in her hands. Her forefingers brushed fondly against my lips and I found myself relishing the sensation, then they stopped their movements and instead pressed gently down. Whether my lips parted in surprise or understanding, I do not remember, but I did part my lips and suck lovingly on the two fingers that snaked their way inside. It was obscene and embarrassing, but it felt wonderful.

The fingers were eventually replaced by her small delicate lips and I gratefully responded to the warm tongue that pressed itself into my virgin mouth. I was completely overwhelmed and drunk by virtue of her sheer beauty and presence. My arms acted on their own when they wrapped around her and pulled her closer still to me, but I couldn't blame them for behaving so.

"What's your name?" I gasped out between kisses.

"Carmilla," she replied.

These feral passions had rapidly drained what little strength I had, had left and I soon collapsed into the most wonderfully deep sleep while Carmilla whispered words of love and death into my ears in her most deliciously thick and sultry voice.

In the morning Carmilla had returned to the more gentile and almost regal person that I came to know as her normal self, as I assumed it to truly be. Again she had woken before me and made me breakfast, teased me through a sweet smile and engaged me in stimulating and intelligent conversation. As far as I could tell, she didn't seem to remember much of the night before and I felt it best to leave things that way. I had no idea how to approach such a subject at any rate. Finally we got around to filling in the much neglected contract and I felt an amount of relief and possibly a touch even of happiness that the situation had become more permanent.

At first I attributed her previous distressing change in attitude to simple drunkenness, but over the next few months of our living together these moods of hers resurfaced many times, even when I could confirm that not a drop of alcohol had passed her sweet lips. Viewed objectively the situation was insane, she would have her way with me one moment and then the next we'd return to normal as if nothing had ever happened. It was a strange and maddening time, but impossibly I grew used to it and accepted it. What was even more insane were the few guilty occasions when I caught myself feeling disappointed that it was her normal self who walked in through the door.

During this time I found my own moods grew increasingly unpredictable and I suffered frequently from fatigue and weakness. Carmilla admitted that she had been quite ill earlier in the year, which was among the reasons she had been so late in securing her own accommodation and apologised constantly in the fear that I had caught a sickness from her. I didn't much like to miss lectures or fall behind on work, but on days when I was especially bad and Carmilla insisted on staying home to nurse me, I couldn't help but indulge.

"I feel awful to think that this might be my fault," she apologised again, as she dabbed at my head with a cool flannel.

"It's fine really, there's a lot of this thing going around the department."

"Even so, I feel I owe you something back for all your trouble."

I didn't believe that she could have been at any fault, but she was so sincere in her apologies and persistent in her declarations of debt to me that I allowed her to pamper me. It made me chuckle how she always sounded so polite and formal, a kindly proper lady so utterly different to the only other close friends I kept.

"Why do you always sound so posh?" I'd rudely asked her through a mild fever.

"It's just how I grew up," she replied distractedly.

"Are your parents quite old or rich?"

I wondered if I had pushed my luck, but eventually she answered me.

"My parents died a long time ago."

I felt terribly sorry for her upon hearing this, but somehow her voice wasn't filled with as much sadness as I would have expected. I assumed she was putting on a brave façade to avoid placing any guilt on my shoulders and decided not to touch on the subject of her family or past again, unless she was the one to bring it up.

My changes in temperament and lack of concentration didn't go unnoticed among the friends from my course. I'd always been somewhat of a loner, due in part to a degree of social anxiety, but I'd discovered that nobody could go through university without picking up some friends along the way. Noticing changes in mood and personality was one thing friends were apparently very good at.

"Laura, are you feeling OK?" Sarah asked me. "You've been looking a little bit pale recently."

"I've just got a cold or something, it's nothing serious."

"Well, you sound cheerful enough."

I laughed at that. I still wasn't really sure how I felt about everything, but it was undeniable by this stage that I treasured my time spent alone with Carmilla, regardless of what mood she was in and what we did or talked about.

"Oh ho, does that chuckle mean what I think it does?"

"Ah, no, I just have someone looking after me while I'm ill."

"Oh my god, I knew it. When did you get a boyfriend?" she demanded obliviously.

I wasn't sure if I should lie to her and move the subject on, or simply tell her the truth and spend the next few minutes explaining how I'd ended up in such an unbelievable situation. I wasn't by habit a liar, but it was certainly something I could do when I thought it necessary - and thinking about things was something I did a lot of. Ultimately, this wasn't really a time where I would gain by lying and, with a sigh, I resigned myself to tell all.

"It's a girl," I paused, "I, er, I think I might be gay."

"You think?" she asked incredulously, highlighting my apparent uncertainty.

How was I supposed to answer that? I'd turn red just thinking about Carmilla, picturing her long slender limbs and elegantly shaped figure. If I was any more experienced in love or knowledgeable about matters of the heart, I should surely say I had fallen for her. However, I was neither of those things and all I could really say I felt was confusion.

"It's kind of complicated, I'm not really that good at understanding my feelings."

"You need to talk about it?" she asked sheepishly, before adding, "I'm still your friend, you know."

I wasn't really sure if it was a good idea, but I decided that it wouldn't hurt to try. Sarah was much more outgoing than I was and really we were two very different people, but I'll always be glad that I was able to make friends with her. Despite our differences, she always seemed to be able to read what I was thinking or what I wanted to do; I often wondered if she had a shy younger brother or sister and was used to that kind of behaviour.

"Well, you remember how Sophie was going to share a house with me this year, but dropped out?"

"Yes," she nodded, not apparently aware of where this was going.

"I put up a notice for someone else to move in, well, I didn't really want to, but it'd be so tight on my budget. Anyway, someone actually responded."

It was mostly true. I hadn't thought she needed to know about the car accident, or how I just let this total stranger stay the night without even questioning them. If I thought myself mad, then there was no way that she wouldn't.

"And this someone is... her?"

I nodded, it was all I could really manage. To her credit, Sarah didn't seem as shocked as she had initially appeared.

"So what's complicated? Obviously you both... er... get on, or you wouldn't be talking like this. You like her, right?"

Was it so complicated after all? Yes, of course it was. I may have been a bit naïve and clueless but I knew enough to know that my relationship with Carmilla could hardly be called typical.

"Yeah, I do like her. It's just... well, I've never felt like this towards other people, not women or men. It's different."

"Oh wow, I can't believe you sometimes. You're in love with her and you don't even know it, who the hell is this girl?"

That was definitely a question I couldn't answer, embarrassing as it was to not even know myself. She was a smart and beautiful stranger who walked into my life and made me question everything I thought I knew about myself. Who was she? That was what I wanted to know.

"She's a History of Art student; interesting and smart," I said lamely.

"Hmm, do you know how she feels about you? I don't want you running off and hurting yourself."

I must have gone tomato red because I recalled a memory of her kissing me passionately and instantly felt my cheeks my cheeks burning ferociously. I wasn't really sure of what she felt for me, but if one of us had fallen for the other then she was the one making all of the moves. It was an odd thing though, the way she had forced herself upon me and neither asked for, nor expected anything in return. Could it have been that I was then nothing more than an obedient pet?

"Ah, never mind. I don't think I want to know," Sarah flatly stated in response to my silent blush.

I wasn't really sure if the conversation had done much to resolve my situation, but I did appreciate the effort. If it had achieved anything at all, it was that I then knew how much I really needed to talk to Carmilla about everything. While it's so often said that actions speak louder than words, words could be so much less ambiguous, especially for me.

I steeled myself as I walked home at the end of the day, scenarios flittering through my thoughts as I attempted to decide on how to approach the task ahead. I wished I had been able to stay calm, but over analysing every little detail was a bad habit of mine that constantly wore on my nerves and inevitably lead to a stressful weariness. I'd been like that for as long as I could remember and, as annoying as it was, I just had to accept it as part of who I was.

Carmilla was already in when I finally arrived, reading through a tatty looking book that, for all appearances, could have been as old as Gutenberg's press. She didn't even acknowledge my arrival, seemingly completely engrossed in the yellow-stained pages, but somehow I still felt as if her eyes were following me across the room as I quietly tidied away my daily things.

I eventually joined her in the living room and decided to read a book of my own, rather than disturb her time spent reading. She looked so peaceful sitting there, casually turning the pages with an almost painfully slow grace, that I could not help but continually glance up at her. I thought to myself that she almost looked nostalgic and perhaps tinged with just a touch of passing sadness, it struck me that this was perhaps the most natural expression I had ever seen her wear.

After what must have been at least an hour, she closed the old book and placed it lovingly on her lap, with her milky hands resting on top of it. For the first time since I had arrived back, she looked over at me and caught my guilty gaze, as I observed her from above the top of my open book. I desperately looked away, largely in shame of my potential voyeurism, but knew I'd been seen.

She then moved the book to the table and stood, stretching almost perversely as if she were a cat. Footsteps grew louder as she approached me, but I dared not look back from the pages of my own book that I had buried my face within. The weight of my body shifted slightly under me as the sofa warped to accommodate hers beside me.

"Did you feel better today?" she asked sweetly.

"Mm, a bit," I lied.

My condition fluctuated up and down and that day had not been an especially bad one by any stretch, but I didn't really feel that I had improved overall. It was beginning to worry me slightly, as I had expected whatever flu or contagion to have left me well alone by such a time. Perhaps I should have visited the doctor immediately, not that I believe it would have done anything other than puzzle them.

"That's good news," she said and pulled my head gently to her shoulder, where she proceeded to stroke her fingers through my hair.

"Do you like me?" I blurted out.

"Of course I do, my dear Laura. You must know I think very fondly of you."

I wasn't sure if my true meaning had really reached her then, as it still felt as if she was playing with me, but the last thing I wanted was to break her comfortable embrace with an argument. I felt so childish to press my head into the nape of her neck and latch an arm around her own, but it was a pleasure that I simply couldn't resist.

"Your skin feels cold today," I pointed out.

"Oh my, I hope you aren't getting another high fever," she said and placed a cool hand across my brow.

I shrugged and enjoyed the soothing sensation. I highly suspect that it was not me who held the oddity in temperature, but I had no way of knowing at the time.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The days very gradually drew colder again as those early winter months passed by and we entered into the time of March. I still had not succeeded in pressing Carmilla further about the nature of her apparent feelings for me, but instead had simply allowed the bizarrely comfortable situation to become a routine. Easter had rapidly approached and a feeling of nervous worry entered my thoughts.

Last year I had gone home for Easter and had expected to do the same thing again, not foreseeing what changes could have lay ahead of me. This time had been different and things had changed. I wondered what she might do, having no other friends or family, so much as I was aware of. As well as this, I didn't much want to leave and spend an entire six weeks away from her – the person who had become as much a part of me as any other.

Was I thinking graciously of her when I thought that I didn't want to leave her? That it would be somehow cruel to abandon her and leave her alone for so many weeks. Or was I in fact thinking more of myself? Could it really have been that it was my longing for her daily company that caused such thoughts to manifest themselves? Worse still, might it have even been my lust for her occasional touch? I well remember feeling guilty and ashamed of those possibilities, but now think little of them. In truth it was probably some combination of all of these and I should have felt no such guilt over the honest human feelings I held.

A week passed and my worries continued to erode away at my mind, I'd still made no changes to my plans and had not even told Carmilla of them. Still, I knew I had to and knew it had to be soon. In another weeks time from then the lectures were to wind down and the needlessly long holiday would begin – though it actually began a few days earlier than I had thought at the time.

She was sitting casually at one end of the sofa, with her legs curled up lazily beside her and her head barely held upright by the slender column of her right arm, propped as it was against the arm rest. I was about to open conversation by calling her name when I noticed she was reading through some work of mine that I had printed off earlier that day and left sprawled across the coffee table. I watched her as she read through it, the bridge of her nose occasionally wrinkling in a way which suggested something about it bothered her.

"This is quite fascinating," she suddenly said, "although the style of writing is somewhat odd. I just can't follow it."

I hadn't even realised that she'd known I was there, but I smiled and tried to explain.

"Those are my prompts for a presentation I have to give in my tutorial tomorrow. I'm not very good at public speaking, so I like being well prepared. They're not really meant to be read like that."

"Oh, I see. I feel silly now."

I laughed. It was odd seeing her when she was like that. She seemed almost naïve and vulnerable, in a way which more usually applied to me than to her. I wanted to pat her on the head and tell her that she wasn't silly, but the feeling passed before I could overcome my nerves.

"Do you have any plans for the Easter break?" I asked her.

I had to tackle the issue before any more time slipped by me and it seemed as good a moment as any. For all I knew she could have already had plans of her own, but she hadn't mentioned anything to me and nothing she'd said had indicated as much. Somehow I suspected that she had nothing immediately lined up, for it simply seemed in her nature to drift casually through life as if she alone were immune to every potential pitfall which lay ahead. I sometimes envied that aura she carried.

"No, I have nothing planned. Did you have something in mind?" she asked in kind, gazing at me intently with deeply probing eyes.

"Well, usually I travel down to Norfolk and stay with my father during the terms breaks. It's where I lived before coming here. I was just wondering if you had anywhere to go, I didn't really want to leave you here on your own."

Selfish or selfless, it was certainly true that I didn't want to part with her now. I wondered what her reaction to this would be, as she seemed far more able to read the thoughts behind peoples words than I had ever been able to do.

"I wouldn't want to keep you from returning home," she said flatly with a coy smile, almost as if she were trying to provoke further comment.

Her provocation worked, for I blurted out the first thing I could think of to prevent our separation. It might have been that odd feeling of comfort and safety which she inspired in me, but difficult and irrational decisions were rendered far too easy when faced with her beautifully strange, dark eyes.

"Would you like to come back with me? We have a spare room and my dad works nights, so it's not like you'd get in the way."

"Well, if it's really no bother," she said with little hint of surprise, "I think it might be nice. You had better call your father and check with him though, I shouldn't like to intrude on his property without warning."

"Oh, of course. I'll call him in the evening."

It was a spur of the moment decision but I didn't think anything wrong with it. It was true that my father worked nights so it wasn't as if having someone else around would get in the way or cause any trouble. In fact my father had previously suggested that if I were to meet someone, I should invite them home during a holiday, although I suspect he had a male friend in mind when he made the suggestion.

Carmilla made dinner that night, as had become routine. Her cooking was always flawless and I could never understand how she had ever managed to master so many amazing foreign dishes, but it was an experience I gladly enjoyed. I wasn't bad in the kitchen myself, albeit somewhat prone to laziness, but it was partly because of this that I was able to truly appreciate the extent of her skills. I thought her naturally gifted, as she seemed to be at many things, for I doubt people with years more experience could have made such varied cuisine with the enviable lack of effort she displayed.

"Do you live in Norwich?" she asked me, "You said your home was in Norfolk."

"Ah, yes, that's right. It's the main city in the county."

She looked thoughtful for a moment as if recounting memories of long gone days.

"I don't think I've ever been to Norwich before, what is it like?"

My home city was a pleasant enough place, at least as pleasant as any small modern English city could be. However, I wasn't sure how best to describe it for it could never be considered an especially beautiful or interesting place. All the same, it was the place where I grew up and I would forever associate strong memories, both good and bad, with its various locations.

"It's very similar to Leicester actually, in terms of the general size and the kinds of buildings. The city centre is nicer though, at least in my opinion, and I think the centralised layout makes it easier to navigate." I tried my best to explain, "I'm afraid it's not really very interesting though. Oh, but there is the castle and the huge cathedral, that is if you're interested in those things."

Carmilla looked a bit thoughtful and a very slight frown briefly formed on her delicate lips.

"I can appreciate a cathedral for it's structural beauty but little else," she said dismissively, "Is the castle a ruin or is it intact?"

"The city walls are ruins but the castle itself is completely intact, it's a museum now. Actually I just remembered the castle museum has an art gallery, they might have an exhibition on over Easter."

"I think I should love to see that, would you show me around?" she asked with a sweet smile, meeting my eyes across the table.

My cheeks tinted rose with nervous embarrassment, despite how comfortable things had become between us I could never be quite sure exactly what our relationship was. Still, a date with Carmilla in an art gallery was a prospect I had most certainly looked forward to.

"Ah, yes. I'd be happy to," I answered quietly.

She observed me for a long moment which only succeeded in adding more pinkish-red hue to my features. I very much wanted to look away, ashamed of my childish reaction, but her eyes had captured mine and it was impossible.

"You have the most wonderfully endearing expressions, my dear Laura," she complemented with a sly smile, eyes gleaming with cat-like cunning.

For a moment I though her mood had changed and I felt inexplicably vulnerable under her playful gaze, but she quickly settled back into her previous lazily elegant posture.

"Norwich is over one hundred miles east-south-east of here, is it not?"

"Er, yes, that sounds about right. It usually takes about three hours to travel between there and here."

"How were you planning on travelling? I didn't think you had a car."

"I don't. I thought we could take the train. We'd need to change at Peterborough or Ely, but it's not a bad journey. That's not a problem is it?"

"Well, it is not the most pleasant way to travel, but it shall have to do."

I almost laughed at her comment because it somehow struck me as so very representative of her image. Indeed, I could not easily imagine her languidly graceful figure fitting in easily amongst the hustle and bustle of crowded public transport. Somehow she had an almost otherworldly quality about her where she seemed to exist ninety degrees out of phase with the rest of reality and such qualities would be well highlighted by the noisy and busy surroundings.

I reached across the table and shyly squeezed her hand, prompting a questioning look in return.

"Using the train isn't so bad, just read a book or listen to some music and it'll be over in no time. That's what I usually do, anyway."

"Hmm, yes, one can pass a lot of time reading and listening to fine music," she said dreamily.

"What sort of music do you like?" I asked her, suddenly curious.

"Oh, different things, musical trends come and go. If I was to say but one thing, it would be that classical music always remains a constant, forever appreciated outside the passage of time."

She still held the same dreamy, almost nostalgic, tone, but I attributed it to her apparent state of growing fatigue and the general eccentricity of her character.

"I think I know what you mean. I have to admit my exposure to classical music isn't terribly great, but I do like a bit of Beethoven and Bach."

"I'm not much fond of Bach's more blatantly christian choral pieces, but the sound is inarguably magnificent. Beethoven though, yes, what fantastic symphonies."

"Maybe you could help introduce me to some other good composers sometime," I suggested.

"They're all dead," she replied obliviously, still seemingly more deeply involved in her own thoughts than the present conversation.

"I didn't mean literally, just the music."

She blinked and looked at me before letting out a low chuckle.

"Of course, it was a poor jest. I do apologise."

"You're looking a little tired tonight, you should go on and get to sleep if you want. I can handle the washing up on my own today."

She stretched out a slender arm, splaying her fingers like the claws of a cat as she rotated her wrist to its full extent, first one way and then the other. I frequently compared her actions in my mind to those of a cat, for she always reminded me greatly in her mannerisms to those of a cat I had owned as a child.

"I think I might do as you suggest," she paused before adding, "Laura dear, make sure you wash up with hot water."

"That only happened once!" I retorted with an uncharacteristic pout.

She gave a tender smile and floated gracefully from the room. I couldn't help but watch her, it was a fascinating hobby which I'd developed ever since she first moved in. Even her most casual and thoughtless motions were always so full of gentle purpose and intricate precision, never wasting any effort or making any unnecessary noise. She was a beautiful person but more than that, there was an intrinsic beauty in the inhumanly practised grace of anything and everything she did.

I did the washing up as quickly as I could, the heat of the steaming hot water brought a light sweat to my brow and reminded me that I still wasn't perfectly well. Since I'd started eating better and sleeping earlier I'd felt much better in general, but even though my lifestyle changes had allowed me to continue closer to normality, I was still suffering from some strange affliction.

I took a paracetamol from the cupboard above the sink and swallowed it with a glass of cool water. Somehow a slight headache and a dizzy spell had crept up on me without me realising it and I made it from the kitchen to the stairs with considerably more difficulty than I would have liked. My knuckles were white-raw as I gripped the handrail tightly to steady myself.

I cursed under my breath as I stepped into my bedroom from the landing. The window had been left open since the morning and the room was freezing cold; even fully clothed I shivered as I leant against the doorway. I rubbed my aching forehead with my free hand and considered climbing into the cold bed.

Feeling more than a little delirious, I backed from the room and instead stepped across the landing, carefully sliding open another door.

"Are you awake?" I whispered cautiously.

"Not yet," Carmilla replied with a surprising coherence, "Are you all right?"

Her voice was oddly haunting in the darkness and even though I couldn't see her, I felt as though her dark eyes were carefully watching me.

"Ah, I'm just feeling a bit light headed again."

"You didn't feint, did you?"

"No, it's not that bad this time," I answered, pausing uneasily.

"Did you want anything?"

"Er, my room is freezing because the window was open all day, I was wondering if maybe I could sleep with you tonight?"

There wasn't an answer for a moment, but a brief and muffled rustling of the covers indicated that she'd pulled back the sheets and slipped over to one side.

"Of course you can."

I was shocked by my own boldness and I became extremely self-conscious over the volume of my breathing and the pounding of my heart in my chest. It wasn't the first time that we would sleep in the same bed together, but it was the first time that it would happen under my own initiative and the first time when Carmilla's mood was what I once would have called 'normal'.

I slowly stripped down and made my way to the side of the bed, where I carefully climbed into the warm covers and pulled the sheets back up. Tentatively I rolled onto my side and slid forwards until my front was pressed up against the cool skin of her naked back. I expected her to tense up or say something in response, but she remained both silent and relaxed. In a fleeting moment of daring, I reached across and wrapped an arm around her waist - my efforts rewarded when her own hand swept across mine to hold my arm in place.

"Good night," I whispered across her ear.

"Sleep well, my Laura."

The possessiveness of her voice was almost frightening in its vehemence and served to remind me that whatever control I had over the strange relationship was either transient or illusionary. Even at the limit of my bravery, my ill mind still felt more like a pet or a toy than her equal. I couldn't quite understand it or rationalise it, it was confusing and maddening.

I wanted to cry inexplicably, but instead tightened my grip on her body and buried my face in her luscious, silky dark hair. I could tolerate the feeling of being used if it meant I could just be with her.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

We stood together at the station, exposed to the early morning air. It was meant to be spring, but the wind lashed out ceaselessly with icy hands and the sun seemed to perpetually hide behind grey and foreboding clouds. Away from watchful eyes, at the rear of the platform as Carmilla had steadfastly insisted upon, I allowed myself to lean up against her under the pretence of keeping us warm. I think I should have been too embarrassed to touch her if I had thought that anyone might have been looking in our direction.

Despite my protests, Carmilla had insisted on dressing smartly for when she would meet my father upon arrival, resulting in her wearing a formal skirt and a fitted black blouse, decorated with lines of red thread. With her rich dark hair and the contrast of her milky skin, the overall look had been strikingly attractive and perhaps very faintly gothic - not that Carmilla would have appreciated such childish generalisations.

Next to her I felt distinctly out of place with my casual worn jeans and khaki fleece, but I knew it was more appropriate for the weather. If I had been dressed as she was, I fancy that I would have been shivering uncontrollably, much as I often had done while waiting for trains in the season before. However, true to her words of insistence, she seemed almost unnaturally comfortable in the shade and the cool breeze. Even so, I didn't think it could have been terribly good for her.

"I wish the sun would come out," I mused aimlessly, rubbing a gloved hand against her arm.

"Laura, don't say that," she replied both sternly and sarcastically, with a mocking smile, "I sunburn so terribly in the summer."

She laughed and so did I; I wasn't sure I really understood the whole meaning of the joke, but it seemed amusing enough at the time. Frequently I got the feeling that there was often more to her than I understood. Perhaps it was because of the way she always seemed to choose her words so carefully, or the wicked smile that so often graced her pretty lips. She was always a deeply mysterious person, as I cannot emphasise enough.

"Don't you think the day would be much nicer if the sun was out though?" I asked.

"No. No, I don't," she answered me seriously, but still wearing a smile.

"Carmilla dear, you don't find any beauty in a summer day?" I continued, mimicking her distinct style of speech in cheery parody.

"I find the summer quite vulgar," she elaborated, "There's no beauty in such ubiquitous brightness and colour, only a hideous gaudiness. True beauty is more subtle than that - it's elegant and contrasting. For example, a single flower blooming in a snow covered field, or in the purposeful gait of a wild predator stalking through the undergrowth."

I have to confess that I thought there was an element of truth to her statement, upon consideration; perhaps even more so now. The ideal of subtle and elegant beauty which she confessed to me was certainly one which I had often applied to her. However, it was beyond me as to how she could truly consider a summers day to be something so hateful.

Eventually the train arrived at the station and we made our way on board behind the rest of the passengers. As was true of British transport far too often, the carriage was packed full of people and, rather than push through in search of seats, we opted to stand in the door compartment. I offered Carmilla my backpack to sit on, which she did after mild protest, and then sat on the floor beside her. Despite her obvious initial displeasure with the situation, Carmilla's mood soon changed for the better, evidently pleased with the unexpected privacy provided by the uncomfortable compartment.

As per my suggestion, she passed the time by reading from her book. I regarded her fondly as her face took on the nostalgic look I'd seen before. I wanted to ask her about it, but I couldn't bring myself to disturb her - lest I spoil the tranquillity of the moment. I turned instead to the window and idly watched the trees sweep by in a continuous blur of greens and browns.

Some time after the change of train in Ely, I realise that I have must have nodded off, as when I awoke, my head was resting in Carmilla's lap and the train was pulling into a stop at the station of my home city. Sharp dark eyes looked down at me, her cascading ebony hair brushing pleasantly against my rosy cheek.

"Mm, how long have I been asleep?" my broken voice managed.

"An hour I think, perhaps two. I don't tend to note such passages of time."

"You should have woken me, it must have been boring for you."

"Not at all. I had my book and I was pleased to see you resting; it's better that you do."

There was no point arguing with her.

Norwich station was a terminus, so in fact it was perfectly safe to fall asleep on the train without fear of missing the stop and, as such, I had developed a bit of a habit for doing so on my journeys home. However, it was only the early afternoon, leaving me somewhat surprised by my own apparent fatigue. Rationalising it, I simply supposed that habits died hard and thought little more of it.

Leaving the train and the station behind, I lead Carmilla to the taxi stand outside. Ordinarily I would have walked the hour distance to my suburban home, but in the condition I was in, I doubted that I would have made the distance at all. The taxi was at least quicker and more comfortable, even it had been quite grossly expensive.

My home was a mid-sized detached house on the northern edge of the city. It wasn't the most convenient or impressive of locations to be sure, but I was happy to call it my home. In truth, before moving away to university, it was the only home I had ever known; my father owned the building and had lived there long before I had ever been born. As we stood together on the shingle driveway, I looked up at the ageing brickwork fondly, happy to see that nothing had changed in my time away.

"This is it," I announced triumphantly, turning to face Carmilla with a nervous smile, hands placed on hips.

"It looks like a wonderful home," she replied kindly.

I couldn't tell if she was simply being polite or whether those had been her honest feelings, but all the same I felt glad about her comment. I wanted her to feel as though she belonged and that she could stay without imposing or being imposed on. Aside from the change of location, I really just wanted things to continue as they had done before.

"If you'd like, perhaps you could stay over during the summer as well," I suggested hopefully, "or at least for some of it."

"We'll see when the time comes," she replied whimsically. "Should we not be going in? I wouldn't want you to keep your father waiting."

I was somewhat disappointed by her non-answer, although perhaps it was a little too much for me to ask. Despite this, I didn't feel too let down, after all it was quite ingrained in her nature to treat every day as it came. This was an aspect of her I was becoming quite used to, and one which I had noted, often with mild amusement, many times before.

"Actually, he probably won't be up," I explained sheepishly, searching haplessly through my pockets for the door key.

"Oh yes, you said he worked nights, I remember now. Still, will he be up later? I'm sure he'd like to see his daughter after all this time."

I found the key and moved over to the door, carefully dropping my bag beside it.

"Yes, he should be about for a while later on. When I was at home - before starting university that is - he used to sleep during the day and then we'd eat dinner and spend some of the evening together before he had to leave for work."

"My, quite the vampire," she said with that now familiar grin.

Oh, how I'd laughed at that one.

"Yes, he is rather," I joked alongside her.

I opened the front door and asked Carmilla inside. Having finally arrived, there wasn't actually a vast amount for us to do. I imagined that Carmilla was likely too tired of travelling to want to turn back out and look around the city. I wondered for a moment if perhaps catching the taxi straight away had been a mistake. However, the weather had still been unpleasant and it would have been awkward to carry around our bags with us. On reflection, I'd likely made the correct decision.

"Would you like to go into the city tomorrow?" I asked. "We could see what's on at the castle art gallery."

"I think that would be an excellent idea,"

I beamed a happy smile in response. I had been looking forward to that since first suggesting it back in Leicester.

Time passed with idle conversation as we sat lazily together in the living room, television on quietly in background. However, there was something pressing quite heavily on my mind. In truth, I was somewhat worried about meeting my father. Though I had spoken to him on the phone before, I had not exactly elaborated upon the details of the situation. How could I have when I hardly understood them myself?

Perhaps I loved Carmilla then - I remember how Sarah had thought so. I certainly could not deny that her personality intrigued me greatly and that I felt overpoweringly attracted towards her. Perhaps she even loved me - not that my naïvety would ever have let me truly understand what went on behind those dark and mysterious eyes. I was terrified by feelings which I had no experience in dealing with, made worse by how out of the ordinary it all was, and yet I was also the happiest I had ever been.

I was in no fit state to make complicated or important decisions, but I couldn't summon the bravery to discuss it with her. Instead, I simply waited, resigning myself to go with the flow as it happened. It had always worked out for Carmilla. Of course, I risked that my father might have concluded that we were more than simply friends - and we were more than friends - in less than ideal circumstances. It was a risk I couldn't help but take.

My father awoke later that evening and came downstairs as I had predicted. He was noticeably surprised by the presence of Carmilla, likely expecting my friend to have been a young male. However, he showed no signs of suspecting that there was anything suspicious between us. Perhaps he was as naïve as I, or perhaps he was simply too happy seeing me to give it any prolonged thought. Regardless, it had been a weight off my mind.

"Dad, this is Carmilla," I introduced. "She's my house mate back in Leicester. She didn't have anywhere to go."

"Thank you for allowing me to stay," Carmilla said politely, going so far as to curtsey.

I could see that my father was somewhat taken aback by the formal gesture and tone, as he glanced away from her in order to look to me for an explanation. I could only smile and shrug in return. Carmilla's oft bizarre habits and idiosyncrasies were something I had long since become quite used to, though I could never think how she came to have them; she was ever reluctant to speak of her childhood, except cryptically in passing.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Carmilla," my father began, recovering from his mild surprise, "I'm glad to see my daughter has a good friend at university with her. She always seemed so lonely here."

"Dad!" I exclaimed in embarrassment.

The words he spoke were true of course. Although I wonder now if I had truly realised how lonely I had been at the time; for when one has spent a lifetime unknowingly in a kind of detached solitude, there exists nothing with which to compare it. Carmilla had quite forcefully entered my life and filled a void of emotions which I had been quite ignorant of, at the same time forcing me to acknowledge that it had always been there.

"It's a parent's job to embarrass their child. You'd do well to remember that when you have children of your own, both of you," he continued, ignoring my burning face.

Embarrassing as that had truly been, it had at least further eased my mind of my prior worry. I intended to explain things eventually of course, but only after I had further opportunity to consolidate my thoughts and feelings.

"I'm also pleased to finally meet you," Carmilla said seriously, before turning to look at me with a somewhat mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Your daughter is such delightful company."

"It's reassuring that you think so," he replied. "She can be so shy sometimes that I can't help but worry about it."

"Dad, I'm standing right here," I said, exasperated.

"I'm sorry, Laura, but it's true. I used to worry that it might have been my fault for not being around enough. You never really seemed to have any properly close friends before."

"It wasn't your fault. I'm just not comfortable with big groups of people, you know that."

"All the same," he said, turning back to Carmilla, "perhaps you can help bring Laura out of her shell a bit. Go out and do things, meet people."

"I'm sure your daughter can be more bold than you imagine," she answered dismissively.

"You think I should just have more faith in her then?"

"I shouldn't use such an ugly word, but yes, the thought is the same."

I took the opportunity following her answer to step back into the conversation and to change its direction. It made me feel quite indescribably uncomfortable to have people talking about me in such a way; more so due to Carmilla, as some of her words held more meaning to me than they would have done my father.

"I was thinking of showing Carmilla around the city tomorrow. She's studying The History of Art, so I thought she'd like to see the gallery too."

"Hmm, yes," my father considered, "that sounds like a good thing to do. The cathedral is worth visiting too, if you're thinking along those lines."

I remember Carmilla gave me a disparaging look. I just smiled at her understandingly in return. My father was a very kind man, but sometimes he could be quite prone to interfering with one's plans or to suggesting things which he would rather have done himself. In such situations, it was usually better to humour him than to disagree.

"I don't know what else we might do though, it's okay if we're not back until later?"

"Of course, but make sure to have a phone with you."

"We will," I replied, feeling unduly patronised.

After that, we retired to the dining room and casually passed the rest of the evening until my father had to leave.

I had trouble sleeping that night and lay wide awake for hours. It had been strange in a way, being home and in my old room again after so many months away in such different circumstances. However, it's funny how familiarity ebbs and wanes like that. Only on my previous visit home had I been so eager to sleep in my old bed, that I had collapsed into it not minutes after entering the front door. Yet there I was, completely unable to sleep, my thoughts wandering unhealthily to Carmilla in the room beyond and anticipating the day which awaited.


End file.
